


Green Line Killers

by vesuviannights



Series: Green Line Killers [3]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: AFAB reader - Freeform, Actually I lied it's medium-well angst, Asra fucking you, Asra in the middle, Everyone is satisfied in the end, Female Reader, It's maybe 1.5k of figuring shit out and then 7.5k of just pure fucking smut, It's what you all wanted right?, Light Angst, Light Bondage, Light D/s, Lucio fucking Asra, Multi, Not enough to make you cry but enough to make it interesting, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Some mentions of the L word are thrown around, Threesome, some voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-08 23:50:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20985320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesuviannights/pseuds/vesuviannights
Summary: The crime of belonging to the Count of Vesuvia while loving another places a glinting blade above your throat, and one hundred spiking heartbeats follow your every move as you prepare to atone for your sins. The steamy, smut-tastic finale to the Lucio/You/Asra 'Green Line Killers' series.





	Green Line Killers

**Author's Note:**

> Highly recommend getting into the vibe of it all by listening to Lorde’s cover of 'Everybody Wants to Rule the World'. Also make sure you have read part 1 and part 2 to catch up on the tea.

At the sound of your summons, you push open the towering doors to the throne room and stride through.

Chatter seems to hush around you, wide and uncertain eyes, whispers you can’t quite discern. They are watching you. They are impatient, from too long spent waiting.

Waiting for something glorious and horrific. Wondrous and terrifying. 

_A show._

Your chest is tight as the audience gathered for the impromptu council parts for you. More whispers, more wide and uncertain eyes as you walk. You hear their words so clearly in your ears and in your mind, and it is everything you have to keep your gaze set ahead, to not stare, to not retaliate, to now show them the tremble that threatens to rattle your body as you swallow.

As each of your steps echo throughout the throne room—the sharp crack of heels, the hard thump of your heart inside your own mind—your eyes never break from what is ahead of you.

Lucio is lounging on the throne, chin propped on his hand, smirking as he watches you approach. He is adorned in more gold than usual, chains and buttons and hidden in the heels of his boots. He has yet to move, yet to look away from you, yet to break his gaze as you walk to him, his shadow and power and wicked delight all seeming to grow the closer you get, and no matter how much you draw yourself up, you still feel so small.

A final hush falls over the gathered crowd as you come to a stop at the foot of his dais, watching him through your lashes, lips parted, breath held in your throat.

And there you wait.

And wait.

And wait.

**

_Five Days Ago_

Your head pangs, it aches, still swimming with the image of Lucio—his eyes devouring your sweaty, intertwined limbs, your wide and uncertain gaze—after he had found you. Your heart had been racing, though you weren’t sure why, and even now as you stir in the morning light, you still don’t know.

He had let it happen. He had said it was okay, he had told you to love Asra if that was what made you happy, and it did, and so you had, but…

But despite all of that, the glint in his eyes had been unreadable, and you had wondered for a moment if he had maybe said it all in the heat of things, if he had gone away and returned with a new mind on the matter.

If he would punish Asra for it.

You drag your hands down your face, already exhausted at the idea of rising to meet the day, but there are few things you want less at the moment than to stay in the palace, in this room, in this bed.

Asra had already gone, stolen away in the early hours of the morning after an aggravating conversation with Lucio. The killing calm that had settled over him after the Count’s grand entrance had only spurred Lucio’s cocky swagger, and before long, staying in the room had become impossible, even for the small chance that something could be understood about Lucio’s sudden change in demeanour.

And so Asra had stood and collected his things, but not before making his point to you in the best language he knew. A soft kiss to your forehead. One to your cheek, just shy of your lips. He had squeezed your hand—_this isn’t your fault_—but hadn’t met your gaze—_I just need some time_.

Shuffling into the bathroom, you splash your face with cool water from the faucet, then turn to begin the hunt for the clothes you had left strewn about the room before your bath. You find, with a surprised murmur, that they have all been neatly folded and left on the chair by the door.

You don’t give yourself time to think on it, hurriedly dressing and gathering the remainder of your items before slipping out of the room—where you are immediately set upon by a smirking figure.

Lucio pushes you up against the doorframe with his hips, grinding his cock into your thigh as he nuzzles your neck and begins pawing at your clothes.

“Why did you take so long to wake up?” He murmurs, sighs, _pouts_. “You know I can’t start my mornings without your delicious little mouth around my cock.”

And he’s grinding, and you sigh and press a palm to the part of his chest exposed by his popped buttons. You push, but it’s not enough for him to move away.

“Not this morning,” you tell him.

You feel his lips curve into a grin against your jaw, his sharpened little canines nipping at your skin. “We can get straight to it, then.”

You sigh, again, and push, _again_, your touch firmer but voice so much quieter as you speak.

“_No_.”

And he steps back, lips parted, eyebrows drawn together in a confusion that is so genuine and put-out that he is left wordless in it all. After a few moments have passed, his jaw closes with an audible click of his teeth, and he is left only frowning.

You push an almost-shaking hand through your hair, now set on your path and just needing to find the strength to keep your voice steady and not shaking with the frustration and confusion and hurt lingering just beneath the surface.

“Just give me a moment, okay?” You exhale and shake your head. “A _moment _where it isn’t about you—you being in the spotlight, you controlling everything around you, you making the wrong choices and expecting everyone to drop everything to change the world!”

Yes, it’s harsh, you know it is, you know that you have snapped, but you are _livid_, Lucio’s words and reactions and choices from all the nights previous eliminating any part of you that would normally care to placate him or work around his gods _fucking_ damned fragile ego.

And to your surprise, as you exhale and push your hair from your face and right your clothes from where he so quickly and carelessly skewed them, Lucio nods. He _nods_, and his frown unfolds or shifts just a fraction.

You swallow and nod, too, as though to reassert yourself just one more time. “Please. I just…give me the day.”

This, finally, seems to unsettle something inside of him, his eyes going a little wider, his lips curving into the first signs of a painfully familiar sneer. “What—you fuck Asra once and all of a sudden I’m old news? You’re done with me?”

“No.”

“Then what? You l—you care for me, right? Why can’t you explain what you’re feeling, why you don’t want me anymore?”

You take a moment to curse, to square and loosen your jaw, and it’s everything you have not to turn away from him before you speak again.

“Listen to what I’m saying: I want space. I’m not trying to leave you.”

He doesn’t seem to settle at your words, though they are enough for him to press his lips together, signalling you won’t have to fight him to speak again.

“Just let me think,” you sigh. “I still…care for you, I do. I don’t plan on changing that. I just need to think._ Space._ And when I say that, it isn’t just for me. It’s for you to do the same.”

When he says nothing in return, or perhaps just so he doesn’t have the chance to, you place a hand on his chest, place a soft kiss to his cheek, and then turn to depart the palace.

*

It becomes painfully obvious when dusk begins to settle on the fifth day, that you had grievously underestimated Lucio’s understanding of the term _space_.

You had been alone in the shop, no signs of the Count (not that he ever visited you), no signs of his guards, no informants who you knew his courtiers paid to gather intel throughout the city. He had sent no letters, showered no gifts, and it seemed for all intents and purposes that Lucio truly had understood you when you had asked to be left alone.

And despite the relief each day of space brought, they also seemed to give new opportunities for uncertainties and doubts to settle themselves in your bones, burying themselves deeper with each moment that Asra _didn’t_ contact you or appear in your shared home.

You arrive back in the early evening on the fifth day, road maps in your eyes and heavy limbs from your day of errands. It had been a welcomed distraction at the time, but the guise was quickly broken by the servant waiting outside the shop door with a familiar paisley envelope and gold wax seal—a summons to the palace.

Of course your first thought, as the servant disappears back into the bustle of the evening and you are left standing with the unopened envelope, is that you will simply not go. As unsettled as your thoughts have been the past few days, just under a week did not seem like nearly enough time for Lucio to think his actions through.

But Lucio is Lucio, and he is likely very much thinking that you _are_ trying to leave him, that you _are_ trying not to love him anymore, and while it isn’t your job to comfort him in his misguided thoughts, it certainly is in your heart to support him wherever you can.

And so you—roadmap eyes, heavy lids, vision a little blurry—drop your things and throw on whatever is closest, and make your way up to the palace.

*

The walk to the palace and through its winding hallways barely registers in your mind, and you’re sure that by the time you find yourself in Lucio’s wing, you have ignored and bypassed many people you should have said hello to or acknowledged, as well as several concerned stares on the state of your person.

Even as you approach his door, a small part of you—whatever part still has the energy to think and reason—wants to turn back, or perhaps just find somewhere close by to rest your head and give him just a little more time to really think through how he will ruin you.

But as you place your palm to his door, all thoughts of leaving slip from your mind, and you hear…something.

_Breathing_. Soft—no, heavy—keens, very familiar keens, and groans. Cursing.

Your throat tightens at the sounds. Had he invited you here simply to witness him moving on? In a final heat-of-the-moment decision to rip the two of you apart for good, and to ensure he was the one to do it?

Now you know you should leave. Turn, walk from the palace, lock the door to your shop. You will deal with Asra when he returns, but you will never again breathe the Count’s name.

But…you don’t. Perhaps you are weak, or perhaps your heart is aching, or perhaps you are simply morbid and looking to truly see Count Lucio as others do—cold, impulsive, cruel. It would make your aching heart so much easier to bear.

Hand shaking, you lift it to the door—unlocked, ajar, very much on purpose—and push it open.

A sharp gasp catches in your throat at the sight before you.

Asra kneels on the Count’s bed, every inch of skin bare and flushed, his jaw soft and eyes crossed as Lucio, his alchemical arm around the magicians throat, absolutely raws him.

Harsh slaps of skin on skin intermingle with Asra’s breathy little groans, his low whine as Lucio’s teeth sink into his shoulder sending white-holt bolts straight to your core. He barely seems to know where he is, too caught in his own sounds and the feel of being destroyed to acknowledge the world—that is, until, you take a single step into the room, and his eyes snap to you.

And the moment they do, his entire body tenses with a choked gasp as he grapples with Lucio’s arm, barely managing to pull it away from his throat long enough to reach out to you and rasp out three little words to you.

“_I love you_.”

And then he comes, white stripes of his seed lashing out across his stomach, dribbling down his twitching cock as he moans and cries out.

Lucio’s name. It’s _Lucio’s name_ you can hear on his lips, in his desperate little moans, as he desperately tries to ground himself in his overwhelming orgasm. You could hear it now, and you had been hearing it since the moment you had stepped into the room, but perhaps you just weren’t ready to realise it.

Lucio still has not glanced to you, or even acknowledged your existence. His thrusts have come to a stop, cock still buried inside of Asra as he digs his fingers into the magician’s hair and rips his head to the side.

Head tilted back, Asra smiles at him with a hooded, lust-fucked gaze.

You watch, breath still held tight in your chest, as Lucio takes Asra’s mouth and kisses him with clashing teeth and soft sighs. The movement is slow, sensual, familiar in a way that the two of them together should not have been capable of showing.

The movement is broken by a surprised noise as Asra’s teeth sink into Lucio’s bottom lip, and a rivulet of bright red blood trails down the Count’s chin. Asra’s tongue swipes out at it, and he gives a soft groan as his cock begins twitching with new life.

It is then, and only then, that Lucio—smirking with an almost delighted surprise—release him, allowing Asra to flop forward on all fours. He barely has time to brace himself, knuckles paling in the twist of sheets, before Lucio is fucking him again.

And that is when Lucio’s gaze finally finds you. It finally finds you, or perhaps he has just deemed you worthy of it, as he rocks into Asra’s hips, as he fucks _your_ love in front of you while his seed is still running down his thighs and dripping from his stomach.

Still wordless, Lucio brings his alchemical hand down on Asra’s ass with a sharp _crack_. Asra whimpers and his arms give, cheek pressed down against the sheets as Lucio—only now seeming satisfied with Asra’s submission—slows his thrusts, and then stills his hips completely.

His hands settle on Asra’s hips and then smooth back, massaging the globes of Asra’s ass while he eyes you off, gaze dragging over every inch of your body as though he will devour your soul and leave nothing for the world to scrounge.

“Are you quite done with your thinking?” He asks, almost spits, though it’s clear by the softness in his eyes that he’s trying so hard not to.

You swallow, your feet having carried you to the foot of the bed at some unknown point, and curl your fingertips around the post.

The scene is so familiar, but merely in reverse. You walking in on them. Asra begging you to stay. Asra submitting, while it is you who contemplates escape. All in reverse, only Lucio is still at the helm, so maybe it isn’t reversed at all. Maybe no matter what happens, everything is by his design, and you are only destined to be beneath him.

As though hearing your thoughts, you feel a warm hand enclose around your wrist, and drop your gaze to find Asra reaching out to you. He gives a single squeeze and then slides his hand down, interlocking your fingers when you turn your palm up to allow it. He is breathing in short, shallow gasps, thighs quivering as Lucio’s cock remains seated inside of him, unmoving and without reprieve.

“Are you?” You finally answer Lucio, your voice nothing but a whisper. “Done with your thinking?”

Lucio sneers and looks away.

A moment passes before he pulls out of Asra, the movement deliberate and almost achingly slow. The magician shudders in response, giving a soft cry of protest into the mattress at the loss.

Lucio sits back on his feet, regarding you with a practised and unreadable gaze, as though Asra is no longer between you.

“Lucio?” You murmur.

His jaw tightens, but he still won’t meet your gaze.

In the resounding silence, Asra has risen to his knees and shuffled forward to curl his hand into your hair. His warm palm cups the back of your head, pulling you into the beginnings of a slow, sensual kiss.

Your knees quiver, and you have to take a hand to his wrist to quell the fear in your stomach that he will pull away all too quickly.

As his other hand massages the curve of your hip, the softness of your thigh, he pulls your tongue from your mouth and suckles on it, giving you his wondrous sighs as every sign of how much he is enjoying it, enjoying _you_.

A quiet huff sounds from somewhere in the room, and despite wanting nothing more than to continue melting into Asra’s touch, to forget everything you had seen or thought in the past week, you crack an eyelid.

Lucio is watching you, still with a tight jaw, still with his refusal to meet your gaze directly, only now…there is something different there.

Interest.

_Arousal._

A heady kind of lust you have never seen on him before, not even when he has fucked you to the point of losing your mind and watched your tongue loll from your mouth and your eyes cross in your lust.

And it is in this moment you realise: he likes watching you.

He likes hearing the soft little whimpers you make when Asra squeezes your hip, the way Asra suckles your tongue and causes a flush to spread across both of your cheeks.

You’re only vaguely aware that Asra is trying to pull you into the bed, and you aren’t quite sure how you end up there but suddenly you are, you’re there, sprawled out on the bed and a little dizzy with your lust and still trying…to remember…what?

Words, you need words—

“_Lucio_…” You groan.

Asra huffs into your neck as you squirm up into his touch, the sheets and pillows strewn about you shuffling and falling from the bed.

“Close,” Asra chuckles.

You blink, or you try to, and try to clear the haze from your mind, try to remember—you were here, there was a reason—

“W-wait—”

“Mmmm?”

You don’t like the cheeky lilt to his voice, the ever-present chuckle as he clicks his tongue at your squirming, at the way your words say one thing but your writhing, flushing body and your grappling, greedy hands say another.

Your vision clears just enough to see that it isn’t a haze of lust that clouds it, but Asra’s soft curls, his face buried in your neck as his teeth nip and scrape.

And your hand, your traitorous hand, has somehow buried itself in those locks, has wrapped them around your fingers and is pulling just enough to have him whimper and keen into your heated flesh.

Or…or maybe that’s Lucio causing those noises, pulling those delightful little sounds from your magician.

The Count is kneeling behind Asra’s raised hips, his cock standing proud against his stomach and the little thatch of golden curls at it base.

Your eyes drag over it, watch its red and throbbing length twitch under your gaze. Lucio growls at your attentions, and it snaps you to reality long enough to finally choke out the question rattling around in your mind.

“I don’t—I don’t understand. Why—?”

Lucio knows what you are asking, _he fucking knows_, but he takes his time answering, his hands smoothing circles over Asra’s ass before his fingers slip into his hole.

And though you can’t see them perfectly, you know by the way Asra whimpers, and how his teeth sink into your shoulder just a little too much this side of painful, and by the desperate push of his hips, that they’re doing something exquisite.

“You didn’t want to speak to me,” Lucio finally says, eyeing you carefully. “So I spoke to my other magician.”

You feel yourself tense. “We’re not at your beck and call for whenever you please.”

At your words, Lucio smirks and winks, and as he does he twists his hand.

Asra’s entire body seems to convulse, and he keens and groans into your shoulder, his teeth clamping down hard enough for you to yelp.

A perfect chain of events. All set off by Lucio. All proving his unspoken point.

And even though he doesn’t need to, he pulls his fingers from Asra’s ass and smirks as he devours the noises of you both. Then, with a quiet murmur, he finally meets your gaze, and the power of it makes you tremble with everything but terror.

“And yet you answered it tonight, with no time wasted.”

Before silence can settle upon you once more, Lucio takes hold of his cock and lines the head up to Asra’s hole, slipping in with no resistance.

He picks up a slow, languid pace almost immediately, one that says he has all the time in the world to do as he pleases. He lifts his alchemical hand to squeeze at Asra’s hip, and the magician—as though stirred from a spell not of his own creation—pushes himself up onto shaking hands and presses his forehead to yours, his eyes hooded and almost cross-eyed with lust as he smiles at you.

“You want me, right?” Lucio asks, while Asra kisses you, suckles your tongue, makes you whimper.

You barely manage to stumble out your answer. “Y-yes.”

“And you want Asra.”

“Yes!”

Asra murmurs his approval at his name, at your noise, at the way you press your hips up toward him when Lucio’s movements shift him forward, and Asra’s cock—already hard, hot, twitching again at the promise of attention—falls between your thighs.

Knowing he can’t give you exactly what you need just yet, he presses the flat of his palm to your stomach and smooths it down, murmuring to you about all the noises he will pull from you, about how you will not be able to remember any words to beg for him when he is through with you.

You whimper as his fingers settle between your legs, beginning with tiny little circles over your clit, pushing and teasing in movements that will never get you where you want to be. They serve no other purpose than to prove his point, and to draw from you every sound he loves.

Lucio hums in approval at your noises, the steady smack of his hips into Asra’s continuing as he speaks again.

“And of course Asra wants to follow you to the ends of the earth,” Lucio continues. “And I want for the world to know how well I take care of you, both of you, how happy you are with me. How well I can love you, even if one of you sometimes cannot stand me”

He doesn’t even seem to notice he has said it, that dastardly and disgusting _L_ word he so vehemently refused to use with or around you.

Asra does notice, though, and smirks a knowing smirk at you before his fingers travel a little further south, probing at your entrance—and there he groans, _wet, so wet, so ready_—before slipping a single finger inside.

He crooks the tip, feeling around, testing and teasing your fluttering walls in their arousal. Lucio gives another groan of approval as you squirm under Asra’s ministrations, head thrown back against the black silk sheets, knuckles paling under the strain of your desperation.

“Asra and I might not enjoy each other, pet,” Lucio murmurs, so soft that you forget for a moment—just a moment—exactly what he is so indirectly trying to apologise for. “But there is one thing we can agree on, and certainly other things we can provide each other with. And so once we spoke, I realised one very important thing—so long as you are here, we are all satisfied. Suckle on his fingers, pet.”

You immediately follow the order, greedily taking hold of Asra’s wrist and sucking his fingers into your mouth, moaning and whimpering around them at the taste of yourself, eyes wide and locked with his as you show him exactly what your mouth might do to him, should it be allowed.

The arm he is using to hold himself up shakes, bowing just a little at the elbow at the sight of you deepthroating his fingers like the desperate, needy little thing you are.

“Lucio didn’t force me into anything,” he whispers to you, with a jerking movement of his head. “He didn’t convince me. Don’t you remember what I said to you just last night? Before he came in, before we kissed, before any of that?”

_Wouldn’t it be wonderful._

You nod around his fingers, and he smiles at you, a devious one that you know he has certainly learned from Lucio.

He reaches back and pushes at Lucio, much to the Count’s annoyance. But he follows the ‘order’, pulling out of Asra, who barely manages to conceal his groan of disappointment.

Asra moves with quick, shaking hands, peeling your undergarments down over your knees to let you kick them off somewhere toward the foot of the bed. He whispers to you, soft little prayers and affections, as he pushes and shoves your clothing not even off, just somewhere out of the way, and then rises again to smash his lips to yours.

“I’m going to fuck you,” he groans, grinding his cock against your inner thigh. “I’m going to make you scream while Lucio makes me beg. Would _that_ be wonderful?”

You, already grappling at whatever you can reach to find purchase, nod and whine, pushing your hips up to meet his grinds.

“Hurry up!” Lucio growls.

Lucio’s cock in his hand, he is stroking it, thrusting and twitching, so much of his cool and dominating exterior already lost just in the sheer act of having to watch your attentions—Asra’s included—somewhere other than him.

Or, perhaps, he just wanted to be fucking Asra, and your attentions were no longer as vital a requirement for his survival as you once thought.

Asra kisses you with deep, hurried sweeps of his tongue. You whine against him, demanding more, and he is already moving along your jaw as he gives you just that, positioning himself at your aching hole.

Something flickers in his gaze, just for a moment, as he holds himself there, and holds you in turn with a hand at the back of your head. You see it, you recognize it, and with a soft murmur you nod your head, giving him your final consent to him, to this, to _all_ of this.

And then he finally pushes into you, just as Lucio thrusts forward into him.

Three groans in tandem. A moment of silence, during which the only signs any of you are alive is the shimmering sheen of sweat across each of your brows, beading on Asra’s collarbones, making Lucio’s hair lay flat at the nape of his neck.

And the quivers—_oh,_ the way you quiver, the way Asra buries his face into your neck, the way he pushes your hair off your forehead with a shaking hand, murmuring sweet nothings into your neck, trying to shush you, trying to shush himself, so full, filling you.

And then someone moves—you don’t know who, maybe none of you do—but suddenly Asra is thrusting into you, then pushing himself back onto Lucio’s cock as he pulls out, Lucio not moving an inch as he enjoys the spoils of his efforts.

And you are groaning, and pushing up into Asra’s mouth as his tongue laves at your pebbled nipple, as he leaves bite marks and bruises all across you, Lucio groaning his admiration for each and every one. 

It becomes desperate oh so quickly. Asra is pushing into you with long and uneven movements, and Lucio’s fingertips are leaving bruises at Asra’s hips, causing him to whimper and paw at you and the sheets as he tries his best to fuck you and bring you to orgasm without losing control of himself. 

But he does, he loses it, just as Lucio drops his hips and fucks him at a new angle, you feel Asra tighten like a loaded coil and spill inside of you with a shuddering groan and as much cursing as you have ever heard him utter in your life.

Lucio doesn’t let up on his pace. In fact, along with his smug grin and almost condescending praises of Asra’s pretty little noises comes a deeper growl, a shadow to his gaze as he buries himself to the hilt over and over again inside of Asra with no sympathy or care.

“Stop!” Asra groans. “Stop—I need to—”

Somehow, Lucio knows, and he shuffles back so that Asra can do the same, pulling out of you with a quiet whimper at the loss of your warmth.

You’re too heady to notice the way his body shakes, the way that Lucio watches with hooded eyes as Asra settles between your thighs, ass presented to Lucio for more of his ministrations.

Asra scrapes his teeth along the inside of each thigh, throwing you a hooded smirk before his lips latch onto your clit and begin suckling without mercy.

You loose a cry, the sound echoing throughout the chamber. “Ah! _Ah_—A-_Asra_—”

You bury a hand in his hair, trying to pull him away from your sensitive clit with sharp little tugs, but your efforts are barely half-made, and the pain does nothing more than elicit a noise of disapproval, an almost impatient sigh as his ministrations continue.

Lucio responds to the call and leans forward, taking your wrists to pin them to the bed head—where you immediately feel Asra’s magic seal itself around them, locking you there, unable to control what he does with his wicked little mouth.

You throw each of them an accusing look, though it’s hooded and hazed and you’re not even sure you really mean it at all, Asra’s suckling and long swipes of his tongue and the brutal crook of his fingers inside of you, moving his seed around, pulling you closer and closer to orgasm.

“Pouting, my love?” He murmurs into the heat of you. “Shall I reverse it?”

You shake your head vehemently, eyes rolling into your skull as he inserts another finger and scissors the three of them apart, stretching you for him to devour.

“Count it down,” Lucio groans, his hips smacking into Asra, sweat running in rivulets down his neck and collar bones. “She comes before I do, or she doesn’t come at all.”

“Ten.”

Asra murmurs it almost immediately, and you’re too heady to protest, but your heart thumps a little harder, so some part of you must panic.

“Nine.”

You push your hips up into Asra’s mouth, grinding pathetically to try and get a little more friction, a little more of the heat of his mouth.

“Six.”

More panic. No no _no no_—

“Three.”

Time is passing too fast, chunks you can’t remember as you desperately try to grind and relieve yourself against Asra’s insistent tongue, tears streaking down your cheeks from the sensations—

“Two.”

And you’re close, so close, _so so close_—

You scream, your throat burning from the force of it, black spots popping in your vision as you thrust your hips wildly up, down, pushing, pulling, sobbing in relief and from the overwhelming power of it.

Asra’s hands are pinning you to his mouth, not giving you a moment of reprieve, keeping you locked to his lips and his tongue. You barely hear Lucio’s own guttural groan, the curses and sighs of relief under his breath as he spills himself inside of Asra, as his entire body caves to his most primal desires, leaving bruises and claw marks along Asra’s hips, marking him in every way he knows.

The silence in your ears is ringing, edged by an exhausted haze, an ache that goes deeper than any bone in your body.

You find your way back, somehow, along the sounds of breathing and a heartbeat that matches yours, calling out to you and coaxing you back into reality.

By the time you really know reality once more, Asra has climbed his way up your body, kissing your jaw and murmuring his praises as he goes, fingers still fiddling almost lazily with your clit and between your folds. And for every pathetic and barely-there whimper and twitch you give him, he gives you another kiss, another praise, another secret smile into your sweat-damp skin.

Lucio has already moved off the bed and toward the washroom, and you barely hear him telling you that he’s cleaning himself off. _Don’t join him_.

You let out a shuddering breath, eyes lifting to Asra’s as he smooths his hand across your forehead.

“Is it true?” You ask him, a murmur, so quiet. “You want this? You think it would be wonderful?”

“Would I agree to it if I didn’t?”

Part of you thinks a quiet _yes_. The same part of you that has seen him give up half of his heart for you, traipse through dangerous magical realms for you, stay outside of a room he could hear you crying out in pleasure from and then step into that same room with a man he barely tolerated, just to see you loved and crying his name.

“Pleasure and happiness take many forms, my love,” he tells you, pulling you from your thoughts. His fingertips trace your bare arms, up to where they are still bound by his magic to the bedhead. “Mine just so happens to be in the form of fucking you and getting fucked in return.”

You let out a soft laugh, and he kisses your nose, your chin, and then finally your lips.

You sigh. “Won’t you let me out?”

“Mmmmm.”

“Do you plan on keeping me here forever?”

“At least until Lucio says otherwise.”

You’re not sure if his answer unsettles you, but the warmth in your chest says that maybe you are more open to it than you first thought.

“So that’s how this will work?” You murmur. “Lucio in charge, you beneath him, and me at the bottom of it all?”

Asra answers with a kiss to your shoulder and twinkle in his eye. His voice is a low murmur, a whispered secret meant only for you. “Only on nights I don’t feel like taking him for all he is worth and watching him grovel at your feet for his release.”

You feel a shiver roll through your body at the image his words have constructed in your mind, almost too perfect for them to be entirely unaided by his magic. A knowing smirk, one that just barely tilts the corners of his lips, confirms your suspicions.

A moment later, you feel his magic release your wrists, and you flex them with a soft moan. The water in the washroom has stopped running, and you can vaguely hear the sounds of water sloshing as Lucio cleans himself off in the tub.

You want very much to be doing the same, but you know he meant it when he said not to follow, and every part of you aches from the pleasurable punishment you had not at all been ready for.

As if reading your mind, Asra murmurs a few words, a spell, and you feel your skin freed of all the marks of your tryst, save the bruises and bitemarks—those, you suspect, he would leave there even if he did have the ability to banish them. Then, Asra slinks down your body, just enough to rest his head on your chest, his ear pressed to your matching heartbeat.

One arm bent above your head, one knee drawn up, you pull your fingertips through his hair, the two of you waiting for Lucio to emerge from his self-imposed solitude so that you can speak—without the haze of lust, without the presumptions of hatred or abandonment—about what this all truly means for the three of you.

**

_Present._

At the sound of your summons, you push open the towering doors to the throne room and stride through.

Chatter seems to hush around you, wide and uncertain eyes, whispers you can’t quite discern. They are watching you. They are impatient from too long spent waiting.

Waiting for something glorious and horrific. Wondrous and terrifying. 

_A show._

Your chest is tight with unsettled lust, with wonder, with the promise of power as the audience gathered parts for you. More whispers, more wide and uncertain eyes as you walk. They have been in the throne room for over an hour, unsettled and impatient and without answers even though they have demanded them.

You hear their words, their impatient growls, so clearly in your ears and in your mind, and it is everything you have to keep your gaze set ahead, to not stare, to not retaliate, to now show them the beast that lurks within you.

As each of your steps echo throughout the throne room—the sharp crack of heels, the hard thump of your heart inside your own mind—your eyes never break from what is ahead of you.

Lucio is lounging on the throne, chin propped on his hand, smirking as he watches you approach. He is adorned in more gold than usual, chains and buttons and hidden in the heels of his boots. He has yet to move, yet to look away from you, yet to break his gaze as you walk to him, his shadow and power and wicked delight all seeming to grow the closer you get, and every inch of your skin shivers from need at the sight of it.

A final hush falls over the gathered crowd as you come to a stop at the foot of his dais, watching him through your lashes, lips parted, breath held in your throat.

And there you wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Until Asra steps up beside you, his eyes glinting as he takes your hand and lifts it to his mouth. Murmurs erupt as his soft lips brush your knuckles, shocked gasps and confused questions from the Count’s loyal court.

Your eyes are still locked with Lucio’s. And he is still smirking, so pleased with the attention his court of giving you, with the apparent scandal of the Count’s magician being touched so publicly by his other magician, when she was so clearly _his_.

But they knew nothing. Their thoughts were but insignificant chaos, an inconsequential moment in history that would not be remembered.

Not the way you would. _Not the way you would._

Slowly, Asra leads you up the dais to the chair on Lucio’s right, an intricate and high backed wonder that had been pulled into the room in the small hours of the night and had no doubt been the talk of many a courtier during the morning, along with its twin.

Skin shivering with the held gazes of hundreds of court subjects, emboldened by the knowledge you beheld that they did not, you cast a single wink at Asra before turning and sinking down into the chair.

And still the room waits with a singular held breath, the green lines of their heartbeats a synchronised rapid fire as Asra moves to the third chair, placed on Lucio’s other side.

And only when he sinks down into it, completing your glorious trio, does the Count of Vesuvia finally move to action.

A low chuckle in his throat. An unmistakable glint in his eye as he stares down his nose at the room.

He is ready to give them their show. He is ready to reward them for their time spent waiting.

He is ready to show them what power and glory, true glory, means to the Count of Vesuvia.

And so with a fluidity and confidence matched by no other in the land, Lucio uncrosses his legs and gestures to his waiting court with a flourish of his hands, his alchemical arm glinting in the shafts of light bearing down upon the three of you through the vaulted ceiling.

“Now,” he purrs, so quiet that every breath in the room is held to hear him. “We may begin.”


End file.
